


inappropriate

by halfaday (ayasegawoah)



Series: rochan smooches [2]
Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: M/M, anyway now that this precision is out of the way, pls don't assume my upload schedule is fire i got NOTHING after this fic, this is pg-13 because murder mentions! autopsy mentions! this is a cops au!, this is pg-13 so nothing too graphic but just in case! proceed with caution!, title might be edited, which by the way is just a Very Long Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayasegawoah/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: An autopsy, or what society would deem an unsuitable timing for a first meeting after a cancelled, also first, date.





	inappropriate

**Author's Note:**

> this long friend right here is, like reflections, inspired by [this](https://kashimalin-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/178524845380/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts) prompt list. the corresponding prompt to this fic is #49: short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date. it honestly barely fits there anymore, but well. i did try.
> 
> 200127 edit: this work has been translated into [russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8989404)!

Meeting up in Chanhee's office and watching him manipulate a recent body wasn't quite how Seokwoo had expected to meet him after their cancelled first date, but Chanhee had only recently recovered from the sickness that had made him postpone their coffee, and hadn't had the time to reschedule, too busy with what appeared to be some mafioso on the loose.

'His enemies are just dropping like flies,' he'd explained earlier, as he put the murderer's latest foe away, and pulled out the body Seokwoo had requested for examination. 'I'll end up with at least a good third of the city in here if the narcs don't stop him.'

Seokwoo had heard of him: the five'o man, colleagues a few floors down had nicknamed him. A trainee had said it was because he murdered his victims at 5am, but Seokwoo knew the actual reason: his five o'clock shadow, present in every illustration the police had of him. Some criminals' nicknames had an interesting comeup, but most of them — not so much.

It wasn't his department, and definitely not his case, but Chanhee had been willing to talk about the known details on the victims and the murderer, correcting this and that piece of information Seokwoo had overheard as he started working on Seokwoo's body.

The conversation hadn't lasted long, Seokwoo a little disgusted by the murderer's method, and Chanhee not wanting to leak details about the case, and neither had tried to revive it, settling in a comfortable silence after a few more spaced out questions. 

The music Chanhee had put on wasn't too bad, and Seokwoo let his foot follow the rhythm of the orchestra as he watched Chanhee inspect, frown and dictate what he observed. It was quite an interesting scene, something Seokwoo didn't see that often (he wasn't quite a fan of autopsies), and he watched, partly interested, partly horrified by his sudden fascination for Chanhee's job.

'What did you say you were looking for, again?'

Seokwoo looked up from Chanhee's hands on the victim's wrist, straightening himself up.

'Something that could replace a fracture to one of the knees. A few blows to the leg, for example, or even bruises. Anything that could have become a broken leg if she’d lived longer.'

Chanhee nodded, stepping to the right to poke the knee, feeling the skin under his fingers.

'And apart from that?'

'A tattoo, or an inked symbol. Something with wings.'

'Any specific place?'

'No, sorry.'

Chanhee smiled, muttering that it was fine, he had time before his next autopsy, as he reported his attention to the leg of the body.

‘You have another autopsy to do?' Seokwoo asked, quietly, hoping he was not being too indiscreet.

'Mhm. An old man, in about less than two hours. It shouldn't be long, but well, it's past four already. I made sure not to make plans.'

Plans. Seokwoo was wondering what kind of plans he had in mind. Napping? Catching up on the latest episodes of SVU like he had once mentioned doing? Seeing a friend?

'I was planning on asking you out for dinner,' Chanhee said, as if reading his mind, and Seokwoo blushed, suddenly very aware of their situation. 'There's a restaurant that recently opened near my apartment. I wanted to take you there.'

'I see.'

He tried to say something else, but his brain refused to work, only feeding him lines that weren't quite decent for the situation. Seokwoo deemed it inappropriate to schedule their next date over a dead body, but he was afraid of giving off the wrong image, of sounding like he didn't care — because he cared very much, and definitely wanted to meet Chanhee at this restaurant, wanted to try whichever food they had with him and have him going home with the pleasant sensation that this was one of the best nights of his life. Seokwoo nibbled on his bottom lip. Perhaps he would have the time to ask him out after this, perhaps then it would come all easily, and they would finally be able to have a proper, correct date. This — this wasn't a date. This was work, pleasant, interesting — but still work.

'I got something.'

Seokwoo rose from his feet, responding to Chanhee's hand that motioned him closer.

'Grab some gloves. Look.'

Chanhee's hand was smaller than his, he noticed as he laid his underneath, holding the leg by the ankle to get a good angle of the victim's toes, and for just a few seconds he stared, let his eyes wander on the contours the glove didn't quite hug properly, Chanhee's hand too thin to perfectly fit in it. And then Chanhee was pointing at the space between the third and fourth toes, and the moment was gone.

'Can you see it?'

Seokwoo squinted, leaning down slightly. It was small, but well-done — ink, forming a tiny butterfly, each wing drawn on the sides of the toes, the head, thorax and abdomen of the butterfly right in the middle.

'That exceeds my expectations,' he grinned down at Chanhee, too excited to remember this was not really an appropriate place to be joyful. 

There was a large blush, spreading beyond Chanhee's mask, and Chanhee looked away as he said he was happy to deliver.

'No trace of something that could replace a fracture, though,' he continued, trying to balance out the sudden happiness in the room.

'That's more than okay. I'm thinking this is a copycat anyway. Thirty years later, a modus operandi that suddenly changes…'

'Could simply be the murderer being wiser.'

'Mhmm.' Seokwoo replaced the leg on the table, took a moment to get enough courage to say the words, no matter how stupid they sounded for most people. 'But my instinct says it's not.'

Chanhee wasn't most people. He nodded, and smiled, understanding.

'You know that doesn't hold up in court. You also know this can't change the facts I observe and relate.' Then, softly, as if they were exchanging sweet-nothings rather than theories on who had killed the twenty-something years old woman lying on the table, 'but I'll be more than happy to support your theory as best as I can. Got anything more than your instinct?'

Seokwoo made a face, his excitement suddenly plummeting.

'Not really. I have yet to find someone who can identify her.'

'Oh.' Chanhee took a step back, eyes flicking to the file Seokwoo had given him. 'You're right. She's a Jane Doe. How long has it been?'

'Three weeks,' Seokwoo sighed. 'Three weeks and two days tonight.'

'Some bodies have been there for longer. Don't lose hope.'

The smile in Chanhee's eyes was sweet, sincere, and Seokwoo's heart did a little jolt, not quite used to being the center of his attention yet.

'Thanks.'

He took off his gloves, then sat back in his chair, watching as Chanhee took pictures of the tattoo.

'I'll radio her legs to check that fracture story, but I really cannot promise anything.'

'It's all good.' Seokwoo hesitated, then continued, 'I'm not asking you to make miracles anyway. I just went to you because I trust you.'

'Oh, a fan of my work?'

Chanhee was looking at him, camera in hand, his mask not quite hiding the smug look on his face.

'You're good at what you do, is what I mean. You're skilled.'

'I'm flattered.' A pause, a hesitation on his side, then, as he took another picture, 'A cop this morning made a point to imply I was doing a shit job, because his victim was dead before he drowned, and it didn't quite fit what he was planning to say at the trial. A real charmer, he made a point to insult me while he was shutting the door.'

'Who was it?'

The question was asked as innocently as possible, but Chanhee saw right through the act.

'Not telling you. I reported him anyway. Form was sent before he'd even gone back to his headquarters.'

Seokwoo nodded, muttering an _ ok. _ He didn't quite know what to say, if he were supposed to act defensive, or if Chanhee wanted him to move on; if he were supposed to say that he hoped the cop would get reprimanded, or if he should promise he'd beat the guy up. Of course, he felt anger on Chanhee's part, definitely wanted to have a talk with the scumbag, but — how would Chanhee react if he mentioned it? Would he consider it unattractive, would he lose points for it?

As a friend, Chanhee had found it amusing when Seokwoo had jokingly threatened to joust with a fellow officer for menacing Chanhee; but he was otherwise, most of the time, discreet when he was let down, not really opening up. Seokwoo had always noticed the change in his moods anyway, always made sure to thank him on the days his shoulders slumped, always made sure to joke around and slide a compliment here and there. And it'd worked, as far as Seokwoo knew; had earned him, sometimes, a few texts from Chanhee, a few hours later, as the sun set, as they both went back to the lives they led outside of work. It'd made Chanhee smile, and on the days it hadn't, Chanhee had made sure to remain polite anyway, to show that whatever he was going through, was not his fault.

But now, as — as Chanhee's date, he didn't quite know what to do. Romantic love and platonic love weren't that much different, but still — Seokwoo had been fed many clear-cut versions of romance by the couples around him, by the few partners he'd had. He also hadn't dated in a long, long time, had gotten a bit rusty on what the 'norms' were, and, well… Chanhee wasn't really the most banal man on earth. Seokwoo felt he had to impress him, had to blow his mind away; had to show him he was worthy, somehow, and make Chanhee want to keep him. Which probably told a lot more than he liked about his issues, but still — he was left clueless, attracted by Chanhee but unable to word said-attraction correctly, left awkwardly beating around the bush of his admiration, and desire to be romantically involved with Chanhee. He felt stuck, as if he were confined in a pipe, while Chanhee watched from above, and waited, looking for signs that he was worth the time. _ Wait a bit more, _ he could hear himself say, _ I'm trying to figure it out. _

'Say, do you want to be an actual real charmer?' Seokwoo looked up. 'I have a mind, and a stomach, to drink some coffee. You mind getting me some? I'll pay you back once I'm done with all of this.'

Seokwoo rose from his seat, grabbing his coat.

'No problem. Where do you get your coffee? And what kind of coffee do you want?'

It turned out Chanhee liked the same coffee as he did, from the shop down the road rather than the vending machine of the corridor. A good thing, Seokwoo thought as he walked back to the lab, two coffees in hand. Not that he would have cut ties with Chanhee for something so trifling as him liking the vending machine coffee (after all, its hot chocolate was quite tasty), but rather that he appreciated the information. It meant he could bring a coffee next time he visited the lab; make Chanhee happy, as cheesy it sounded.

Chanhee had changed the music when Seokwoo came back, Lady Gaga singing about Judas at the top of her lungs, and Seokwoo bit back a smile as he opened the door. Chanhee was staring at the screens at the right of the autopsy table, mask under his chin, revealing his mouth — incredibly pretty, eyes shining under the harsh lights of the lab, lips slightly parted, muttering observations to himself as he pointed at things Seokwoo could not see.

'Coffee's here.'

Chanhee beamed, taking a glove off to accept his drink.

'Did you wait a long time? I realised too late I sent you at their peak crowd hours, sorry.'

Seokwoo shook his head, finally taking a sip of his americano.

'There were only a few people before me.'

Chanhee nodded, taking a big gulp of his iced cortado, making a small noise as it reinvigorated him. So, so pretty, Seokwoo thought, and he wished he had the nerve to kiss him right there and then. But then Chanhee gestured to the screens before him, and the moment, once again, was gone.

'No fracture,' he said, and he took a sip before continuing, 'at the very least, not the legs.'

Seokwoo raised an eyebrow.

'You did well to ask for a second examination. She's got the toes of her right foot fractured. I don't know how that flew right by the first expert.'

Seokwoo approached the screens, trying to decipher the radios scattered here and there.

'Could that be caused by someone smashing a hammer on them?'

'You've got mean ideas on your mind. I couldn't tell you exactly, but this fracture is quite light compared to the other files you gave me. I'd say she might have just walked into something.'

'While running away, maybe?'

'Could be. But it's recent, at the very least. That I'm sure of.'

Seokwoo nodded.

'Nothing else?'

Chanhee shook his head.

'The bruises at the back of her legs were already in the first exam. Same with the ones on her left hip. Done before her death.'

A sip of coffee, then another, taking the time to process the information.

'Not too disappointed?'

Seokwoo glanced at Chanhee. He was smiling, jokingly, obviously teasing him; yet the smile did not quite reach his eyes, did not quite manage to mask the glint of fear, of uncertainty that shone there. Could it have been that Chanhee was just as scared as he was? As he laughed, as he joked that the murderer should have left a note, Seokwoo thought he saw nervousness, the same one that invaded his mind whenever he thought about the fact that they were now, technically, dating.

'Not at all,' he said, softly, meaning it. He'd come here for a few big clues, and even if he had only gotten one, it was an important one, one that would probably be used on trial, if, _ when _ he'd catch the murderer. And even if there was nothing much on the fractures, even if for now the toes could not help much, he was sure they would serve at some point.

And of course, of course — he could not be disappointed when Chanhee, dedicated Chanhee, had been the one to deliver all of this, had granted him time for this all. He was in no position to sulk, when Chanhee was right there, actually asking for his opinion, baring just a bit of himself for him.

Should he have said it? It seemed as if it were the perfect occasion for him to word his feelings, to be the date he was supposed to be. But he hesitated, overthinking it all, and then Chanhee was walking away, coffee in hand.

'I'll check some things of the exam again. I have to — there might be something else Mr. Oh missed. Are you staying? I remember you said you had to meet someone at five thirty.'

Seokwoo looked at his watch, and cursed.

'Fuck- oh, shit- oh, no,' he met Chanhee's gaze and pouted. 'No, I- I don't think I'll be able to stay.'

'Alright.'

There was no sign of discomfort, no sign of anger nor sadness as Chanhee nodded, as he told Seokwoo to get going now so he could avoid heavy traffic. Somehow, this hurt Seokwoo more, and he nibbled on his bottom lip as he put on his coat, feeling like he was suddenly Atlas carrying the heavy weight of his failures with Chanhee.

Why was he so hung up on all of this? This was, technically, not a date. Dates were supposed to be an enjoyable time, in a comfortable place — and this had been an extremely enjoyable time, but was the place appropriate? Absolutely not! This was — this was work, with its murders, its horrors, its blood that never stopped dripping. It wasn't romantic, nor the time for lovey-dovey feelings.

But did it mean he shouldn't try? Chanhee was there, the same Chanhee that had said yes when he’d asked him out, the same Chanhee who had waved shyly when they'd passed each other in the corridors before what was supposed to be their first date, the same Chanhee who had smiled at him while he was on his floor. He was there, and although he did not say anything, he had feelings too. He had accepted his invitation for a reason — something greater than simple curiosity, something that could grow into a sturdy structure if it was well-loved. But for that there had to be trials, and efforts.

Were beginnings supposed to birth on first dates? (No.) Were first dates a definite thing? Perhaps, but love went beyond them, included them in its schedule rather than the opposite. If he could not take the steps following the first one he'd made a few weeks ago now, then would he ever be able to? Waiting for the right time was an odd concept: it worked, sometimes, but oftentimes — right times were created by people themselves, were banal moments uplifted, bad situations suddenly turned around. If he waited for the first date to bare himself, if he waited for their first movie together to mention that he didn't like horror, if he separated dates from their time together, was he not making a mistake? Love was not a thing to be tamed, was not something to plan and schedule — dates could be impromptu, and life could steal the spotlight of the ones that had been carefully planned.

He knew that: worked with death and crime, saw the both of them take opportunities from everyone on the daily. He'd experienced it: the perfect date, in the perfect coffee shop, supposed to happen when the weather was perfect, had been cancelled by Chanhee, who was sick. What exactly made today and its morbid aspect a simple meeting, rather than a date? They had had fun — as much fun as people examining dead bodies and exchanging murder theories could have. They'd been comfortable in each other's company, had learned a few things about each other. They even had coffee! The sacred coffee of dates! Was the fact that death was hovering over them the thing that stopped Seokwoo, was this what he thought could justify staying quiet, and waiting for another time? He, they worked with death, saw it on the daily. It was part of their lives — would always be there. Would he end one of their future dates if Chanhee mentioned one of his cases? Were they supposed to act like it did not exist? They were young, inexperienced — later on they would be able to separate the two, but for now, weren't they allowed to mix them a little, to blur the lines between work and fun, to treat every moment as if it needed to be cherished, as if it were their last? Wasn't he allowed, to look at Chanhee at any time, and kiss him? Did he have to wait for a first date? Did he have to wait for the rain to fall, for Chanhee to be in front of his building, crying after their first argument, to tell him he liked him, to confess he cared about him? Could he not appreciate his glinting eyes, his thin, long hands that did not manage to fit in the lab's gloves, the way he said his name when he greeted him on mornings, the way he laughed when Seokwoo made what he deemed a good joke? Could he not appreciate his warmth, and how comfortable he felt around him, could he not lust for more, even if it were in such place?

Chanhee did not look particularly emotional as Seokwoo prepared to take to his heels. But when did he ever? He'd looked fine after being yelled at by a pompous superintendent, had looked very in shape after working on the bodies of thirteen children. _ I'm good, _ he'd said after being punched by the mother of a young victim, blood pouring out of his nose, tear streaks on his cheeks, hands shaking and clear despair in his eyes — but he had not been good, unable to let go of Seokwoo, crying and crying, head burrowed in the crook of his neck, hands clutching his shirt. And yet, here he was, smiling at Seokwoo, treating the situation as something he didn't mind.

For the second time of the autopsy, Seokwoo was hit by the thought that he was, perhaps, as scared as him, that he was afraid it would cause a mess if he said something. _ As if it would, _ he thought, and realised that Chanhee probably thought the same, that they were both, probably, waiting for a sign from the other, missing out on obvious clues and opportunities because they were too busy thinking about what they should be doing.

As if there were rules for dating, as if they, employees of death, were moulded by normality.

Seokwoo let the handle in his hand go, watching as the door closed slowly, then turned around. Chanhee stood there, still smiling, surprise slowly painting itself on his face.

He took a deep breath. it was now, or never.

'About the restaurant…'

'Yes?'

Chanhee's voice was quiet, barely audible — as if he sensed the change in the atmosphere.

'Would you be free on Saturday?'

It was barely visible — a step taken towards him, a corner of his mouth turning upwards, the palest shade of red making its way on his cheeks, his eyes starting to shine — but for Seokwoo, it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'I have an autopsy at three, but otherwise, yes, I'm free.'

'Great. Cool. How do you feel about dinner at this new restaurant, then?'

'I like the sound of it. We meet at my place around, say, seven, then we grab dinner?' 

'Why not?'

Chanhee was definitely grinning as they settled on a few more formalities ('don't wear white, apparently the sauce is divine, but very liquid', 'we'll take my car'), and Seokwoo found himself smiling too, contaminated by his joy.

_ It's that easy, _ he told himself as Chanhee happily opened the door for him, telling him to leave or else he would really be stuck in traffic. His cheeks were a bright red now, and his smile would not leave his face, making the entire world seem brighter — _ that beautiful, too, _crossed Seokwoo's mind, and he could not stop himself from staring, from extending a hand to cup his face. The gesture had Chanhee freezing, eyes darting to the hand, then Seokwoo's face — but whatever he saw there reassured him, and he leaned into the touch, blushing even harder.

He was beautiful, so beautiful, his hair a bit messy because of the goggles he'd been wearing, his eyes brighter than anything Seokwoo had ever seen — and so many more things, that were lost as Chanhee let out a laugh and told him to just kiss him already, as he didn't budge and Chanhee decided to make the move, pulling him down and crashing his lips against his.

And as he kissed back, Seokwoo had the thought that perhaps this was what defined first dates: whether kisses or not happened. Not really the truth, he would realise later, but that would never worry him. This meet-up, to examine a body after a cancelled first date, could be in its own category, a pre-date to what he hoped would be many, many more.

**Author's Note:**

> if you think the autopsy process isn't well-written well i know i know but this was supposed to be shorter so i got incredibly lazy to fact-check everything. you can come for me when something from this au is over 5k.


End file.
